


if only in my dreams

by gilligankane



Series: you can tell everybody this is your song [14]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: 80's Music, F/F, Gen, Mixtape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 15:39:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13103295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: Nicole takes a step back. “No. No, no, no. He’s coming home for Christmas. You’ll see,” she insists. “And when he does, he’s going to put that ornament on. And the star, too.” She stands as tall as she can, crossing her arms over her chest. “So we can’t put those on. I won’t do it.”Her mom stares at her for a moment, her lips pursed. “Okay,” she finally says, her voice soft. “We’ll put them aside for now.”Nicole nods sharply and takes the red car ornament off the coffee table, holding it protectively in her hands.Nathan is wrong, she thinks again. He has to be wrong.





	if only in my dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Today's Flashback Friday takes us to Christmas 1980, where all Nicole wants for Christmas is her dad to come home. And maybe a cassette or two. 
> 
> In this installment, Nicole is 9 and Waverly is 8.
> 
> IMPORTANT NOTE: We know that Emily Andras has established that Nicole's birthday is January 5. However, Smurf and I had previously decided that Nicole's birthday would be May 9, 1971. Because of the way the world has already been mapped out, we have decided to keep her birthday as May 9, instead of adjusting to fit Emily's canon.

**“I’ll Be Home For Christmas” Bing Crosby, 1943  
** _ Christmas Eve will find me where the lovelight gleams. I'll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams. _

Nicole drops the cardboard box on the living room floor and flops down next to it. Nathan kicks at her ankles, trying to get her to move, but Nicole only rolls over and throws her arms out. “I hate the attic,” she mumbles.

Nathan huffs and steps over her, his toes catching her in the rib. “Move it.”

“Don’t kick your sister,” her mom says absently. She stops in front of Nicole. “Honey, can you move.”

“I hate the attic,” Nicole repeats. “I don’t want to go back up there.”

“Nathan will go,” her mom says.

“No way!” Nathan shouts.

Nicole doesn’t see the look her mom gives Nathan, but it must be one of the good ones, because he growls softly and stomps back up the stairs.

“If you’re not going up there, why don’t you start taking the garland out and untangling it.” Her mom sighs, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “You know your father never takes the time to put it away neatly.” Her mom pauses. “Never  _ took, _ I guess,” she says quietly.

Nicole rolls onto her stomach and looks up at her mom. There’s a faraway look in her eyes, the same one she gets late at night when she’s sitting alone at the kitchen table; the same one she gets when she pulls out a fourth plate for dinner, or finds an old shirt in the laundry. Nicole reaches out and tugs on her mom’s pant leg.

“What, honey?”

Nicole shrugs. “I don’t know where the garland is.”

Her mom points at an old toaster box. “Right there.”

Nicole stands, brushing off her pant legs, and picks the box up. She carries it to the corner of the living room, right in front of the tree where she has the most space to stretch the garland out in a nice straight line. 

The tree is small this year. It was the biggest one her mom and Nathan could cut and carry - without her dad to do all the heavy-lifting, they had to settle on something just as tall as her mom. It’s nothing like the tree they had last year. That tree had touched the ceiling, and her dad had to lift her onto his shoulders so she could put the star on top.

Nicole opens the box and pulls out the tangled garland. It’s gold and white and shimmery, but the plastic is cold from the attic. She holds the ball of it in front of her, turning it in her hands and squinting at it. It reminds her of Wynonna’s shoelaces: knotted and impossible-looking.

But if she can get Wynonna’s laces undone, she can figure this out, too.

Her mom opens another box, taking out ornaments and laying them out on the coffee table. Nicole recognizes them all, from the round ones they got at the department store to the popsicle stick picture frames Nicole glued together in art class last year. Her mom takes them out one by one, holding each ornament in her hand for a moment as she looks them.

“Oh,” her mom breathes out.

Nicole looks up from a knot she’s staring at.

Her mom is holding the ornament they got their dad for Christmas last year: a red sports car with ‘World’s Best Dad’ painted on the side. Nicole scowls, tugging too hard on the garland. The knot tightens. Her mom puts the ornament on the coffee table, right next to a set of bells.

“I don’t want that one,” Nicole says.

Her mom looks up. “What?”

Nicole points at the red car ornament. “I don’t want to put that on the tree.”

“Honey,” her mom sighs. 

Nicole shakes her head furiously. “Dad can put it on the tree when he comes home.”

Her mom’s shoulders drop. “Baby, your dad-”

“Nathan says he won’t come home, but he  _ will _ . I know he will.” Nicole clenches her hand into a fist so tightly that she can feel her fingernails cutting into the skin of her palm. She knows what Nathan says, but he’s wrong. He  _ has _ to be wrong. Even if he lets Nicole sleep at the end of his bed and plays her all of her dad’s favorite cassettes because her dad isn’t here to do it, Nathan  _ has _ to be wrong.

Her mom sighs again and motions for Nicole to come closer. “Baby,” she starts.

Nicole takes a step back. “No. No, no,  _ no _ . He’s coming home for Christmas. You’ll see,” she insists. “And when he does, he’s going to put that ornament on. And the star, too.” She stands as tall as she can, crossing her arms over her chest. “So we can’t put those on. I won’t do it.”

Her mom stares at her for a moment, her lips pursed. “Okay,” she finally says, her voice soft. “We’ll put them aside for now.”

Nicole nods sharply and takes the red car ornament off the coffee table, holding it protectively in her hands.

_ Nathan is wrong _ , she thinks again.  _ He has to be wrong _ .

Her mom stands still by the side of the box as Nicole hunches over it, using her shoulder to block her mom from the box. She picks out the star - a five-pointed multicolor one - and then the other ornaments they always give her dad to put up: a glass miniature Christmas tree, the spray painted pine cones they made him a few years ago, the 1977 Doug Ault Toronto Blue Jay baseball card Nathan got signed after the Jay’s first game, and the string of palm trees he always puts up - even when her mom complains. She holds all of them close to her chest, twisting around the coffee table, and pulls open the end stand cabinet door, stashing them inside.

“Nicole,” her mom starts.

Nathan stomps into the room, his hair wild and his eyes wide. “I’m not going back up there!” he shouts. He drops the box of lights and shivers. “I saw a  _ bat _ .”

Nicole looks quickly at her mom. “A bat!”

Her mom sighs. “Guys, there’s no-”

“I saw it!”

“Get the stick!” Nicole shouts.

“Guys,” her mom tries again.

“It was  _ this _ big,” Nathan declares, stretching his arms out as far as they can go. “It had teeth and flew  _ right at me _ .”

“We need the pillowcase!” Nicole yells. She turns and darts for the closet in the front entryway.

Her mom catches her around the middle, holding her still. “Okay,” her mom pants. “Listen to me. First of all, Nathan. There is not a five-foot bat in our attic.  _ I _ can barely fit in our attic. And second of all, Nicole, even if there  _ was _ a bat, we’re not going to catch it.”

“Yes, we are!” Nicole says, still shouting. “I don’t want a bat to bite me while I’m sleeping. I can’t drink blood.” She shudders. “We need the stick and the pillowcase and then Dad can catch it and-” She stops, her body going slack.

Nathan scoffs. “Yeah.  _ Dad _ can do it. Except-”

“Nathan,” her mom warns. She loosens her grip around Nicole’s waist, pulling her a little closer. Nicole feels her body sink into her mom’s arms. “Honey, there’s no bat up there, okay?” She glares at Nathan. “Right?”

“I saw-” He stops and huffs. “There’s no bat,” he says, his teeth clenched.

Her mom turns her around slowly, her hands on Nicole’s face. “Okay, baby?”

Nicole swallows and nods silently.

Her mom strokes her hair back off her face and behind her ears. “I can’t believe you cut it,” she says quietly.

“I like Debbie Harry’s hair,” Nicole says just as softly.

Her mom’s mouth twitches. “I know. You just look so grown up with it so short.” Her mom runs a hand through her hair one more time before she straightens and looks at Nathan. “Help your sister untangle the garland.”

Nathan opens his mouth to protest, but he sighs instead and grabs the knotted ball of shiny, shimmery plastic off the floor.

Her mom takes a deep breath and looks around the living room. “You know what we need? Hot chocolate and some music.”

Nathan’s face lights up. “With marshmallows?”

“Marshmallow creme!” Nicole shouts.

Her mom holds up a hand, quieting them both. “You untangle the garland, and  _ if _ you can get through it without arguing,  _ maybe _ I can put some marshmallows  _ or _ marshmallow creme in it.” She looks between them. “Does that work for the two of you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the say together, glaring at each other when their mom disappears into the kitchen.

“You’re ruining it,” Nicole hisses at him.

Nathan rolls his eyes. “Ruining what?”

“Christmas.”

Nathan pulls a piece of garland hard, tightening the knot. “Christmas is already ruined.”

Nicole stares at him for a second and tries to see her brother, the one who lets her crawl into his bed and who taught her what ‘Scout’s honor’ means. But Nathan looks different at night than he does right now. Now, he looks angry, like he did right before he stepped on her Starsky and Hutch AM Wrist Radio and broke it into ten pieces.

“No, it’s not,” she argues. Nicole looks towards the kitchen to make sure her mom isn’t coming back into the living room yet. She tiptoes over to the end stand and pauses with her hand on the cabinet handle. When she’s sure Nathan is looking, she opens it slowly. “Look,” she tells him. “I hid the best ornaments for when Dad comes home. So he can still decorate.”

Nathan’s face goes red for a minute, his forehead full of lines and his mouth in a thin line, before he exhales through his nose and shakes his head. “Mom is gonna blow it when she sees what you did.”

Nicole straightens up, puffing out her chest. “She  _ saw _ me do it.”

Nathan keeps shaking his head. “Nicole, he’s-”

“Coming back,” Nicole interrupts. “You can say he isn’t, but-”

“He isn’t,” Nathan interrupts.

“He is,” Nicole says firmly. “And when he does, he’ll be happy we left him some decorations to put up.”

“Just put them up yourself because-”

Nicole puts up her hand, interrupting him. “I know you’re 11 now and you think you’re really smart, but-”

Her mom comes back into the room, humming as she balances a coffee mug in each hand. Nicole kicks the end stand cabinet shut, coughing over the noise it makes as it closes. Nicole’s mom looks up, eyes moving between Nicole and Nathan for a minute before she puts the mugs down on the coffee table in the middle of the ornaments.

“One hot chocolate with marshmallow,” she says, pointing at the white mug with a black-line drawing of a corvette. “And one with marshmallow  _ creme _ ,” she finishes, pointing at Nicole’s favorite Garfield coffee mug, the one with the purple background and Garfield hugging a teddy bear. 

Nicole picks it up and takes a sip too quickly, burning the tip of her tongue. She hisses and sticks her tongue out.

Nathan snorts, finally unwrapping one of the garlands from around another. He holds the strand up proudly. “Did it.” He sticks his tongue out at Nicole when her mom turns around to pick up another ornament.

“We still need some music,” her mom says, her voice light and airy. She’s smiling a little, holding an ornament Nathan made in first grade; a heart with the word ‘Mom’ in the middle. 

Nicole jumps onto the couch cushion and over the back of the couch, landing in front of the record player before Nathan even gets around the coffee table. “Ha!” she shouts. “I get to pick the album.”

Nathan groans. “I don’t want to listen to Elvis Presley,” he demands.

Nicole looks at her mom. Her mom shrugs. “Pick something other than Elvis, then. Something Christmassy.” 

Nicole kneels down in front of the milkcrate of records her dad keeps under the player, thumbing through them carefully. She nearly goes by Bing Crosby’s  _ Merry Christmas _ box set, but pauses and then pulls it out. She lays the album out on the floor, running her finger down the track listing. She finds the song she wants on side A of Disc 3. Slowly, she slides the disc out of the sleeve, careful not to touch the grooves of the record. She puts it down gently on the player, lifting the needle and putting it down carefully on the disc.

She twists the knob and turns on the player, listening to the soft scratch before the band starts.

“ _ I'll be home for Christmas, you can plan on me. Please have snow and mistletoe and presents on the tree _ ,” Bing croons softly.

Her mom pauses, her hand tightening around the popsicle stick ornament she’s holding. There’s a soft splintering sound and she looks down, horrified, as she realizes she snapped one of the edges.

Nicole looks up her mom hopefully. “He’ll come home, right?”

Her mom swallows, chewing on her bottom lip. “I don’t know,” she admits.

Nicole shrugs. “He will,” she decides. “We can keep playing this song until he does. Okay?” She looks at Nathan.

He looks away, tugging on the garland again.

Her mom slowly puts down the ornament she’s holding and hangs a different one on the tree instead. “Okay, honey,” she says quietly, stroking her hand down Nicole’s cheek.

Nathan gets the garland untangled while Nicole sings “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” until she’s out of hot chocolate and her mom is tucking her into bed.

 

-

Nicole leans her Foiler up against the back steps and stomps her way to the back door, getting as much snow off her boots as she can so she doesn’t bring it into the house. She unties her boots, growling when she can’t get the knot undone on the first try. She steps on the toe of one boot, pulling her back foot up as hard as she can, sighing when it gives with a soft  _ pop _ .

They’re Nathan’s old boots, blue with a white and blue and red stripe pattern across the top, and a buckle around the ankle that Nathan busted when he wore them last year.

_ Next year, _ her mom promised her.  _ After all of this… after all of this settles down _ .

She sits down on the top step in a small pile of snow left behind by her stomping, pulling her other boot with both hands. It takes a minute of tugging and a swear word she learned from Wynonna, but the boot comes off. She grabs them in one hand and pulls open the back door, dropping them on the woven red and green doormat.

“Neil,” her mom is saying into the phone. She presses the heel of her palm against her forehead, her eyes closed. “It’s not being  _ unreasonable _ to-”

“Is that Dad?” Nicole asks excitedly, dropping her sneaker on the kitchen floor. “Is Dad on the phone?” 

Her mom turns, angling herself between the phone and Nicole. “Neil, I’m trying- No, don’t tell me-” She huffs. “I’m not putting her on the phone so you can-”

“Let me talk to him,” Nicole says. She tries to dip around her mom, but she trips on the phone cord and crashes for the floor.

Her mom looks back over her shoulder, but Nicole rolls onto her stomach and stands back up. Her mom sighs. “I’m not-”

“He said he wants to talk to me?” Nicole reaches for the phone again. “Come on, Mom. Let me talk to him.”

Her mom breathes in sharply, a sound that makes Nicole’s stomach feel funny, but then she’s exhaling like normal, lifting the phone from her ear. She pauses, standing completely still for a long moment. Nicole can hear her dad’s voice coming from the receiver, so small and far away. Finally, her mom reaches out, handing her the phone. “I’m going to go into the living room,” she says quietly. “In case you need me.”

Nicole grins. “I won’t. Hey, Dad!”  she shouts into the phone.

“Woah there, princess,” he says.

Nicole ducks her head, turning away from her mom. “I don’t like being called that,” she mumbles into the phone. She can hear Bing Crosby coming from the living room, scratching softly as the needle finds its groove. 

“ _ I’m dreaming of a white Christmas _ .”

“Right, right,” her dad says. He sighs. “How’s it going, kiddo?”

Nicole brightens up a little bit. “It’s going. Hey, guess what? Curtis, Wynonna’s uncle, he told me that Joe Walsh is in the movie  _ The Blues Brothers _ . You love that movie, right?”

“Sure do,” her dad says. “Hey, kiddo, I wanted to-”

“And Waverly, Wynonna’s sister, she got to help Gus at The Patch last weekend for the first time. She made a hot chocolate with the hot water they run for when Linda Doucette comes and has tea, and it tasted real good. She even got Gus to let us have marshmallow creme, instead of regular marshmallows.” She sighs heavily. “I know Nathan thinks that marshmallows are, like, way cooler than anything in the world, but he’s wrong.”

“Nicole-”

“There’s a  _ lot _ of things that are way more clutch. Like, Shorty’s new Pac-Man machine, and when Wynonna and I get to be partners in gym class, and when Curtis puts on Bad Company on the nights Gus goes out to play cards,” she lists. “All of that stuff is way more fun than  _ marshmallows _ .”

Her dad breathes out. “That all sounds great, honey, but-”

“Oh, guess what else?” she continues, ignoring him. She doesn’t wait for him to guess. “I got an A on my spelling test last week. The extra word at the end was ‘appreciate’ and I almost got the  _ eci _ all scratched up, but I remembered the right way to spell it just as Mrs. Rice told everyone to pass it in.” Nicole toes the kickboard on the wall, wincing when she gets her big toe stuck.

“That’s great,” her dad says. 

“I wouldn’t have remembered if it wasn’t for Waverly,” she admits. “She made me study even though I didn’t want to.”

“Well, school is important,” her dad says, his voice far away. He clears his throat, speaking up. “Nicole, honey, listen. I wanted to talk to you because-”

Nicole cuts him off again. “But, wait. Wynonna and I pooled together our allowance and got the  _ Rolling Stones _ magazine.” She frowns. “Well, Wynonna, Waverly, and me did it. Because me and Wynonna were a little short. Waverly doesn’t even like it, but she says the pictures are okay. And she reads all of the articles I don’t like. Last month, she read about Randy Newman called, uh.” She pauses. “It had the words ‘No One Ever Hurt’ in it but I don’t remember the rest. Did you know he was Waverly and Wynonna’s mom’s favorite? Waverly read the article, but she still doesn’t know why.”

Another song ends and Nicole can hear the sound of her mom turning over the record and putting the needle back down.

“Let me talk to him,” Nathan shouts from somewhere in the house.

Nicole panics, holding the phone as close to her ear as she can. “And-and,” she says, rushing the words out. 

Nathan is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, pouting with his arms crossed over his chest. Nicole turns, shielding the phone with her body as much as she can. It’s  _ her _ time on the phone with her dad, and she’s not going to give him up because Nathan is bigger and can give her a noogie without standing on his tiptoes.

“And I put all of your ornaments away so that when you come back, you can put them up.” She covers the receiver with her hand, like she’s telling him a secret. “Nathan didn’t want to wait, but he can’t spell ‘appreciate’ either, so he’s kind of a-”

“Nicole,” her mom says sharply.

Nicole jumps. She forgot her mom was there, but she twists again, trying to keep her away from the phone. “Whatever. Nathan lost and I won, so I put them in the end stand next to the phonebooks, and when you come home, you can hang them up yourself. I have your red car and the christmas tree and the star and your pinecone and your Doug Ault baseball card and-”

“I’m not going to be able to come home, Nicole,” her dad says sharply. 

The words die in Nicole’s throat, sticking in her mouth like peanut butter. She tries to swallow but she can’t. “What?” she finally manages to ask.

Her dad sighs. “I’m not coming home,” he says again, a little softer.

“Not today?” she asks. The phone cord pulls as she slowly crouches down, doubling over. Her socks are pulling at the toes, but they’re old and she has a new pair upstairs. 

Her dad is quiet for a long time. “Not for Christmas,” he says.

Nicole picks a piece of fuzz off her sock. “But…  _ after _ Christmas. Right?”

Her dad sighs - long and slow, the way he would before he’d sit Nathan down and not yell at him for breaking a lamp or a cassette. “I don’t know why you would think I’m coming home, Nicole. I don’t live there anymore.”

“But it’s  _ Christmas _ ,” she argues. “It’s  _ magic _ .”

“Magic isn’t going to change anything,” her dad grumbles. He clears his throat, speaking louder. “Honey, I thought that you understood, when we talked about it.”

Nicole shakes her head, her toes curling up. “No.”

Her dad sighs. “Is your mom there? Can you put her on the phone?”

“No,” she says again, louder. “I  _ don’t _ understand. It’s Christmas.”

“Put your mom on the phone, Nicole.”

“You’re supposed to come  _ home _ for Christmas,” she argues. “Listen,” she says, trying to calm herself down. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. She tries to remember teaching Waverly to ride a bike, and how she needed to be really quiet so that Waverly wouldn’t get too upset about nearly crashing into Curtis’s truck.

“It’s  _ Christmas _ ,” she repeats. “You’ll be home for Christmas, just like the song, right?”

“I’m not coming back to Purgatory,” he says firmly. “I don’t live there anymore. I moved away, to my new house, and I’m not coming back there. Not now. Not ever. But remember, we talked about you coming to visit me? And once I get all settled, you can get on a plane and spend some time with me. Like we used to.”

“It’s. Christmas,” she says, grinding her back teeth together. “And you’re supposed to come  _ home _ for that. We’re going to have hot chocolate and listen to all of the Christmas albums and stay up late to wait for Santa. Remember?”

“Nicole.”

“We have to make cookies for him to eat and we haven’t even picked out carrots for the reindeer. Maybe we can get them something better. Carrots are  _ vegetables _ and they don’t even taste good.”

“I’m not coming,” her dad repeats, his voice hard. “I don’t  _ want _ to come back to the town that God forgot about. Not for Christmas. Not  _ ever _ .”

Nicole inhales sharply. 

Her dad sighs wearily. “Listen, princess, I-”

“I told you not to call me that!” she shouts into the phone. Her eyes widen and she steps back, dropping the phone to the floor. It clatters hard against the linoleum, skipping across the smooth surface towards the refrigerator. 

“Nicole,” her mom says quietly. “Honey, it’s okay. Just leave the phone on the floor.”

Nicole backs up, shaking her head back and forth. “He’s not coming.”

Her mom’s shoulders drop. “I know, honey.”

Bing Crosby is still singing in the living room. “ _ I'll be home for Christmas. You can plan on me.” _

“You  _ knew _ ,” Nicole asks, her words a whisper.

Her mom reaches for her.

“No!” she shouts. She stumbles back, tripping over her boots. 

“ _ I'll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams _ .”

Everything feels too small and too big at the same time. The whole room goes blurry as she blinks back tears. They knew. They all knew. Nathan knew and her mom knew and her dad knew.

They all knew and Christmas is  _ ruined _ . 

The screen door bangs hard against the siding as she throws open the back door and moves down the steps, jumping the last two. 

“Nicole!” her mom shouts. 

Her ankles ache when she lands, and her boots go flying out of her arms. The ringing in her ears is worse as her mom keeps calling her name. Her fingertips burn, too cold, as she picks up the frame of her Foiler. She throws a leg over it, her socked feet slipping against the metal as she hurries to push off. It takes two more tries before she gets her foot settled on the pedal enough to start moving. Her boots are hard to hold, but she clutches them tightly to her chest and steers with one hand. The front end of her bike wobbles until she gets it under control. 

She pulls over at the end of the street, shoving her feet into her boots. Her breath comes out in white clouds that disappear in front of her face. Her arms are cold and there are little goosebumps forming from her wrist up under the sleeve of her shirt. 

“Nicole!” her mom calls again, standing at the end of their driveway. She steps out into the street. “Nicole!”

Nicole pushes off again, her boots wet and slipping off her pedals the first few feet. Her bike steadies as she keeps moving, wind whipping through her hair. Her chest hurts when she tries to breathe, and the corners of her eyes burn.

Her dad echoes in her head:  _ Not for Christmas. Not ever _ .

She looks up as she pulls onto Homestead Ave, something in her chest loosening until she takes her first deep breath. The sun is starting to go down over the tops of the houses, but the McCready house is all lit up, the windows warm and inviting. She pedals slowly up the driveway, gently resting her Foiler on the driveway next to Wynonna’s Motomag. 

There’s music playing somewhere inside the house and it smells like gingerbread. She remembers Wynonna said something about how Curtis wanted to make gingerbread houses after school, but everything in her head feels fuzzy and far away, like school was forever ago and Christmas isn’t next week.

Gently, Nicole knocks on the front door. She waits a minute and knocks again, louder this time. 

Waverly pulls open the door, a smile on her face. “Hey!” She frowns as she looks Nicole up and down. “Where’s your coat?”

Wynonna pops up over her shoulder. “Leave her alone, dweeb.” She reaches for Nicole’s wrist and tugs, pulling her inside the house.

Waverly’s frown deepens, her eyes narrowed. “Gus! Wynonna called me a ‘dweeb’ again!”

“Dweeb,” Wynonna whispers.

“I’m on the phone!” Gus yells back. She backs slowly out of the kitchen, still talking. The phone cord stretches.

“But the rule is-”

“ _ The rule is _ ,” Wynonna mocks.

Gus turns, holding a hand out at the girls to quiet them. “Okay, Joan. I’ll keep an-” She spots Nicole. “Oh, she just came through the door,” she says quietly into the phone. She looks Nicole up and down. “She looks just fine. Once she takes those boots off her feet, she can go sit down with the girls in the living room.”

Nicole looks down at her feet and flushes. The snow on her boots is melting, making small puddles on Gus’s front door rug. She toes them off quickly, lining them up next to Waverly’s moon boots and the big, black, chunky boots Wynonna convinced Curtis to buy her. She looks up at Gus again.

Gus nods back at her. “I’ll feed her some dinner and then Curtis can drive her back after that. If that’s okay with you?” she asks Nicole’s mom.

Nicole inhales but can’t breathe out, her palms sweating as she waits for her mom to answer.

Gus gives her a soft smile. “I’ll tell her that. Have a good night, Joan.” Gus hangs up the phone slowly, crooking her finger towards Nicole. “Come here, girl.”

Curtis pops his head out of the living room. “What’s going- Nicole!” He starts towards her, looks past Nicole at Gus’s face, and stops walking. “Girls, come on into the living room. We need to decide if we’re going to play KerPlunk, Don’t Break the Ice, or Trouble.”

“I want to play KerPlunk!” Wynonna yells, shouldering Waverly out of the way.

Waverly pauses in the doorway to the living room, looking back at Nicole.

Curtis puts his hand down on Waverly’s shoulder, steering her into the room. “Come on, baby girl. You know Wynonna always wins at Kerplunk.”

Nicole looks back at Gus.

Gus is still standing just inside the kitchen, her hand on her hip expectantly. “You scared your mother,” she says when Nicole gets closer. “She called here before she called the police, but just barely.”

Nicole feels her eyes widen. “I didn’t mean-”

“She knows,” Gus interrupts, holding up a hand. “But she was nearly out of her mind with worry. I could barely understand her on the phone.” She sighs. “Now, I’m not your mother, but what  _ exactly _ were you thinking, Nicole Haught? You’re out there with no coat. Your mom said you left with no boots on.” She rests her hands on Nicole’s shoulders, holding her steady. “What if you had fallen off your bike? What if a car rounded a corner too quick?”

Nicole lifts her hand, biting at her thumbnail. “I don’t know.”

Gus peers down at her, eyes narrowed and her forehead pulled together as she studies Nicole. “You don’t need to talk to me about it, okay? But you need to promise you’re not going to do something like that again.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nicole grumbles.

Gus clears her throat pointedly.

“Yes, ma’am,” Nicole repeats, speaking up. 

Gus stares at her for another moment before nodding sharply. She squeezes Nicole’s shoulders gently and then turns her around, pushing her towards the front hall and the living room. “Go make sure my girls don’t get into an argument. I need Curtis’s help with dinner.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nicole says again.

She turns around, but Curtis is standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He has his arms crossed over his chest, but he’s smiling softly at her. 

“Sorry, kiddo. Wynonna got KerPlunk out before Waverly and I could stop her.” He sighs, exaggerating the shrug of his shoulders. “If only someone could beat her.”

“Well…” Nicole trails off, suddenly embarrassed. “ _ I’m _ good at KerPlunk.”

Curtis’s eyes light up. “You are?”

Nicole giggles. “You already know that.”

Curtis presses a flat palm to the center of his chest. “I do?”

Nicole laughs again, rolling her eyes as she ducks under his arm and slides into the living room. Wynonna and Waverly are crouched down around the coffee table, the plastic tower already on the table. Waverly is carefully slotting the straws into place, slapping away Wynonna’s hand every time she reaches for one of the rods. Nicole sits down next to Waverly, stretching her legs out under the coffee table until her feet press against Wynonna’s kneecap. 

Elvis Presley is going on about Santa Clause being back in town, but it’s not Bing Crosby, and Nicole’s chest doesn’t tighten as the track changes.

“ _ I’m dreaming of a white Christmas _ ,” he sings. 

Nicole jumps when Waverly’s hand lands on her thigh.

“It’s your turn,” Waverly says quietly.

Nicole leans forward, recklessly pulling a plastic straw out of place. She sighs, relieved, when the marbles above it stay in place. She looks over Wynonna’s shoulder, at a spot on the wall, until she’s seeing 20 different spots, all in various shades of gray.

“Hey,” Wynonna says, startling her. Nicole blinks a few times and focuses her vision just in time to see Wynonna staring at her, forehead knitted in concern.. “Are you okay?”

“For sure,” Nicole says too quickly. She absently picks at the skin around her finger, but when she looks up, Waverly is staring at her, and she stops. “I’m righteous.”

“A righteous loser,” Wynonna fires back. She sticks out her tongue in concentration as she slowly pulls a plastic straw out of its slot. She grins, satisfied, as three marbles shift and fall into Waverly’s tray. 

They play four games of KerPlunk while Gus and Curtis make dinner. Nicole doesn’t even care that she loses every single one, but she gives Wynonna a noogie on their way to the dining room table.

Waverly lets her have the last roll, Curtis splits a piece of pie with her, and Gus lets her sit in the living room while Wynonna and Waverly do the dishes - she’s starting to feel like she can  _ breathe _ again. 

_ Maybe Christmas isn’t ruined after all, _ she thinks as she loads her bike into the back of Curtis’s 1975 Ford F-150. He helps her into the cab and lets her pick the radio station.  _ Maybe Christmas will be special after all. _   
  


-

A week before Christmas, the snow comes down and piles up high enough that Nicole can’t find her bike in the lawn. She sits at the backdoor before school, her boot toes tapping on the kitchen floor, waiting for the rumble of Curtis’s truck coming up the driveway, crunching over the snow. She yells “ _ bye _ ” at her mom and slams the screen door shut behind her as she jumps the steps.

She rides in the cab, squished between Wynonna and Waverly somewhere between the middle and the passenger seat. Wynonna never lets her ride near the window, but Waverly always moves as close to Curtis as she can, giving Nicole space so she doesn’t need to sit with her knees against the radio knob. Curtis drives with one hand on the wheel, the other on the volume dial, turning up the music every time a song he likes comes on.

Nicole grins; Curtis loves  _ every _ song.

“I’ll pick you girls up at the end of the day. Gus needs help at The Patch.” He thumps his hand against the dashboard, smiling. “I told her she shouldn’t have waited until the week before Christmas to decorate. Sheriff Nedley and a bunch of the other regulars have been complaining. They said the place doesn’t have spirit.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “You know what Gus told ‘em? She said they could take their ‘spirit’ and-”

Waverly pokes Curtis in the side. “You’re not supposed to say bad words.”

Curtis nods seriously. “You’re right, baby girl.” He pauses. “I’ll let Gus tell you later.”

“I’m gonna tell her you said she had to tell us,” Wynonna sings. She leans into the passenger door, using her weight to get it open. She slides off the seat, landing in the snow with a  _ crunch _ . She turns and takes a few steps towards the front door of Purgatory Elementary.

“Wynonna,” Curtis yells after her. “I don’t want any calls from Mrs. Rice about you hocking spitballs at the back of that Dolls boy’s head.”

Wynonna shrugs. “But what if deserves it?”

Curtis frowns. Why would he deserve it?”

“He said that Jackson Browne was a poor man’s Bob Seger.”

Curtis’s mouth opens slowly. He looks at Nicole. “How old is this kid?”

“I think he’s eight,” Nicole says, tipping her head to the side as she thinks. “He also said he doesn’t like Wynonna’s boots.”

Curtis nods slowly. “I see.” 

Waverly sits up a little straighter. “There’s Chrissy. Let me out,” she demands.

Nicole slides across the seat and hits the ground. Her boots lose traction for a second, but she’s still got a grip on the door enough to keep her steady. Waverly slides down, holding onto Nicole’s arm as she goes.

“Be smart, baby girl,” Curtis says.

Waverly smiles widely. “I always am.”

“Don’t make fun of people who aren’t,” he continues, the corner of his lips twitching.

Waverly ducks her head. “Okay,” she says softly.

“Nicole,” Curtis calls, just as she’s about to close the door.

Nicole uses all of her strength to stop the door, pulling it back open. “Yeah?”

“Keep them on track, okay?”

Nicole nods firmly.

“And do well on your spelling test. It’s Thursday, isn't it?” he asks when she frowns. “Wynonna has been practicing all week. Remind her that ‘disappeared’ has two p’s, okay?”

“Okay.” She slams the door closed and runs across the packed snow, catching up to Wynonna and Waverly. She nearly slips as she comes to a stop next to them, grabbing the sleeve of Waverly’s coat to steady herself.

“Here,” Waverly says, holding out her hand. “So we don’t fall down.”

“If one of us falls down, we’re both going to fall,” Nicole says. 

She takes Waverly’s hand anyway, the tips of her fingers already cold from running across the parking lot. Waverly’s hand is still truck-warm and she doesn’t let go until they get inside and Waverly goes towards the the second grade hallway. Nicole follows Wynonna towards their third grade homeroom, banging off their boots and hanging their coats on their hooks.

Curtis is in the same parking spot when the last bell of the day rings. Wynonna reaches the truck door first, slapping her palm flat against the cold aluminum.

“I win!”

Waverly huffs and shoulders her out of the way. “No one was racing you,” she grumbles.

Nicole pulls the door open, using both hands. Waverly throws her backpack up into the truck, reaching up and grabbing the seat for some leverage.

“How was your day?” Curtis asks as they settle into the truck. 

Wynonna twists open the glove compartment, pulling out a few cassettes. “It  _ sucked _ .”

“How about your spelling test?” He asks, shifting the truck into drive.

Wynonna shrugs and leans forward, pushing in Thin Lizzy’s  _ Jailbreak _ tape. “I did okay, I guess.”

Curtis taps the steering wheel to the beat of the title track. Nicole watches his hands, the way they match the tempo perfectly, sliding across the top of the leather. She mimics the pattern on the tops of her knees, matching every strike of his fingers. 

“What about the word ‘disappear’? How did you spell that?”

Wynonna rolls her eyes. “D-i-s-a-p-e-a-r,” she mumbles. She looks up. “Did I get it wrong?”

Curtis sighs. “Missed that double p, little lady.”

“Shiz nits,” Wynonna curses under her breath. 

“Oh,” Waverly breathes out. “You’re not supposed to-”

Curtis pats Waverly’s knee. “I think, just this once, we’ll let Wynonna say what she’s feeling.”

Waverly pouts, crossing her arms over her chest. Her elbow digs into Nicole’s side.

Wynonna leans forward and across Nicole, sticking her tongue out at Waverly.

“Curtis,” Waverly starts.

“Curtis,” Wynonna mocks.

“That’s not-”

“That’s not.”

Waverly growls. “Stop it.”

“Stop it,” Wynonna says.

Waverly’s elbow presses harder against Nicole’s side. “I said-”

“I said-”

“Stop,” Nicole hisses. She holds out her arms, locking her elbows, and pushes outward, flattening Wynonna back against the bench seat on one side, Waverly on the other. She turns her head slightly, catching the tail end of Curtis’s smile. “Wynonna, stop teasing her. Waverly…” She trails off. “Stop being a tattletale,” she finally decides.

Waverly huffs again, turning away from Nicole and looking out Curtis’s window.

Curtis pulls into the open parking space in front of The Patch. Nicole looks out the front windshield and feels the winter chill that settled in her body as soon as Curtis dropped her off start to fade. She can see nearly all of the dining room through the big window. She can see Gus behind the counter and Joyce, one of the waitresses, bussing a table near the jukebox. She sees Bobo push through the swinging door to the kitchen, a Walkman attached to the belt of his jeans.

There’s a soft glow coming from the neon light in the window and the jukebox across the dining room. It makes her stomach feel fuzzy, like when she gets to have breakfast for dinner. Her chest feels like she could hold her breath forever. She can almost taste Orange Crush in her mouth and smell fresh-fried onion rings.

Curtis turns off the truck and gets out, reaching back to lift Waverly out of the seat. He sets her down on the sidewalk and she breaks for the door. The bell rings softly as she pushes the door open, and Nicole can just barely hear a soft song coming out of the jukebox.

Wynonna clears her throat. “Are you coming or what?” she asks impatiently.

Nicole startles, slipping out of the truck and landing hard on the pavement. She slips on the curb, but Curtis catches the back of her jacket, holding her up. He claps his hand down on her shoulder and keeps it there until they get through the door to The Patch.

There’s something in the pit of Nicole’s stomach that turns warm and soft whenever she comes into The Patch. Her dad took her, once, before she knew that Gus and Curtis owned it. They sat in a corner booth and split a milkshake, and her dad promised he’d take her to see  _ Revenge of The Pink Panther _ at the movie theater in the city.

He never took her - her mom rented it the weekend her dad left. They made a big sleeping pad in the middle of their living room, using all of the couch cushions and pillows from their rooms. She dragged her comforter down the stairs and wiggled under it, her mom’s hand in her hair. She remembers sleeping there all weekend, wanting to ask when her dad was coming home, but afraid of the answer.

For a second, she thinks about how she has the answer now; her dad is  _ never _ coming home again.

But then Wynonna is grabbing her by the arm and tugging her to the counter, nudging her towards a stool. Nicole climbs up on to it, sitting next to Waverly, already sitting down, the  _ Ottawa Citizen _ open in front of her as she looks at the headlines. 

Curtis slides back behind the counter, pulling three glasses from the rack and putting them down in front of each of them. “What’ll it be, girls?”

“No soda,” Gus says, breezing behind him. She stops in front of Wynonna. “How’d that spelling test go?”

Wynonna’s mouth turns down and her lips move like she’s going to say ‘ _ shiz nits _ ’ again, but she swallows instead and looks away. “I forgot the double p,” she mumbles.

Gus sighs for a second before she pats her hand down on the bar in front of Wynonna. “It’s no worry. You’ll get it the next time.”

“That’s right,” Nicole jumps in, following Gus’s lead. “I’ll help you study. Mrs. Rice told us last week that if we can’t figure out a word, we can sound it out. I can help you do that.”

Wynonna shrugs, but she glances at Nicole out of the corner of her eye.

Nicole nods reassuringly.

Wynonna looks away quickly, but her shoulders loosen and she stops scowling. She leans over the counter, peering down into the well Curtis is standing in front of. “Are you  _ sure _ we can’t have soda?”

Curtis looks at Gus, pushing out his lower lip. “Well…”

Wynonna straightens up, mimicking Curtis’s pout. She elbows Nicole, hard. 

Nicole winces, rubbing at her side before she looks up at Gus and tries her best to pout. Gus looks at Curtis first, rolling her eyes, before she turns to Wynonna and Nicole. She opens her mouth, already shaking her head ‘no,’ but she looks past Nicole, at Waverly, and she sighs. 

“Fine,” she huffs. “But half-glasses only. And no refills.” She points her finger at Waverly. “And you better go to bed when I tell you to.”

“I promise,” Waverly sings, greedily pulling her glass of Orange Crush to her chest and angling away from Nicole and Wynonna.

Curtis fills Nicole’s glass three-quarters of the way full, winking at her when she takes the glass slowly, holding it tightly in her hand. She spares a glance at Gus, but Gus is gone, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, propping the door open with her foot.

“Bobo,” she calls. She frowns. “Bobo. Bobo!” She looks back at Curtis. “There’s going to be a ‘no headphones’ rule in that kitchen,” she grumbles. “Or I’m going to let that clown lose a finger in the slicer the next time he forgets to turn it off in between switching the meat products.” She stomps into the kitchen, the heavy door swinging behind her.

Curtis reaches down behind the counter and heaves a big metal bucket up in front of Nicole and Wynonna. It makes a metallic ringing sound against the countertop. For a second, Nicole is sure it put a dent in the counter, but when she peers inside the container, all she can see is popcorn.

“Popcorn?” she asks.

Waverly and Wynonna both gasp, staring at her with twin looks of horror.

“What?” Waverly asks first. 

“You’ve never done  _ popcorn _ ?” Wynonna asks accusingly. 

Nicole looks between them slowly. “What’s your beef?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“It’s  _ popcorn _ string,” Waverly says slowly.

“You eat popcorn,” Nicole says.

Wynonna shakes her head. “No. Well, yeah. Duh. But you string it and then you use it like garland on the tree.” She grabs a handful and shoves it in her mouth, chewing noisily. “It’s stale, if you eat it.”

Curtis moves the bucket out of Wynonna’s reach. “People have different holiday traditions. Some people don’t have Christmas at all,” he says. “Other people celebrate Kwanzaa or Hanukkah.”

Wynonna squints at Curtis. “Do they make popcorn string?”

Curtis shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Wynonna hums and turns back to Nicole. “You’ve  _ never _ made popcorn string?”

“We have garland at my house. It’s plastic and shiny and gold.” She scowls, remembering how she couldn’t get the knots out. “I  _ hate _ it.”

“We used to do it all the time,” Wynonna says. “My mom would-” She stops suddenly, her eyes cutting to Waverly.

Waverly’s shoulders are pulled in, high around her ears. “My mom was really good at it,” she says quietly.

“That’s okay,” Wynonna says. She reaches over Nicole, leaning into her, and puts her hand down on Waverly’s arm. “We’re the best at it now.” 

Curtis taps his fingers gently against the countertop and opens the cash register, taking out a small white container. “Well, you’re in luck. We have to decorate this place, and we saved all of our popcorn so we can string it and hang it in the windows and on the small tree we’re going to put over in the corner.” He hands Wynonna the small container. “Baby girl, why don’t you go and get the boxes from Gus. She’s pulling all the stuff out of the back of the station wagon now.”

Waverly looks up. Her eyes are wet and red at the edges, but she nods and hops down from the stool, using Nicole’s leg to steady herself. Her jump pushes Nicole in a slow half-circle, knocking Nicole’s legs against Wynonna.

“We’re gonna decorate  _ now _ ?” Wynonna asks, looking around the dining room. Her knees push Nicole back, straightening out her stool. There’s an older couple at a table by the window, and another guy at the end of the counter, leaning over it and flirting with Joyce.

Curtis checks the clock. “We’ve got an hour before the high school lets out and the crowd really pushes in. If we hadn’t waited so long, we could have closed early on a slow night and done it. But now... “ He shrugs. “Now we try and do it all in one go.” He winks at Nicole. “Good thing you’re here.”

Waverly comes back into the dining room, holding a box she can’t see around. Curtis takes it from her and puts it on the counter, opening it.

“Lights.” He looks at Wynonna. “Can I count on you?”

Wynonna salutes, puts the small container back on the counter, and grabs the box. It tips back as she gets down off her stool, but she manages to keep it from falling, and carries it over to a booth. Nicole watches her dump the box upside down on the table and start sorting through the lights, stretching out strings and untangling knots.

Curtis nudges the container towards Nicole. “How’re you at sewing?”

Nicole frowns. “I’m not allowed to touch my mom’s sewing needles.” 

Curtis pulls a solitary sewing needle out of the cash register. “Good rule, too. But under the circumstances, I’ll take the blame if anyone yells at you.” He hands it to Nicole. “Let’s thread it.” He picks up the container and pulls out a wheel of floss.

Nicole watches silently as he threads the needle slowly, missing on the first few tries before it catches. He pulls the loop through and ties a knot Nicole can’t see. He hands it to her when he’s done. She takes it carefully, holding the needle out in front of her. A part of her is waiting for the door to open and her mom to come in, see her with a sewing needle, and take away her bike for a whole week like last time. 

“What you’re going to do, is,” he explains, holding up a piece of popcorn. “You thread the needle and wax string through the middle of the kernel.”

Nicole frowns. “How do I get through the kernel?”

“Just push hard,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “Here.” He takes the needle back from her. “Watch.” He touches the tip of the needle to the center of the popcorn. She watches the lines on his forehead move, and then the needle is sliding through the popcorn and out the other side. “See? Think you can do it?”

Nicole nods slowly, reaching for the needle and the start of the string.

Curtis grins widely. “That’s my girl.”

Nicole feels her face flush. She ducks her head and reaches for another piece of popcorn.

Waverly brings in another box - a train set this time, one that’ll go on the far end of the counter where no one ever sits.  _ It’ll run in a circle _ , Curtis tells her.  _ It was mine when I was your age _ . He leaves her alone with the popcorn to go set it up, playing with it loudly, making train noises and crashing sounds. Nicole sits at the counter, lining piece of popcorn after piece of popcorn onto the wax string. She keeps looking back over her shoulder, at Wynonna in the corner of the dining room. She’s steadily checking each individual bulb, twisting them experimentally. Waverly keeps bringing in boxes: garland and Santa statues and a tree about the size of Nicole. Gus pats Nicole absently on the shoulder as she works around Nicole, setting up paper trees on the booths and counter.

The older couple in the booth are gone, but the man at the counter is still talking to Joyce. 

Nicole watches the way the man leans over the counter, his eyes never moving from Joyce’s face as she speaks. Joyce smiles, ducking her head a little. She reaches out her arm, her hand brushing against the man’s. 

Waverly pops up in front of her, standing on a step stool on the other side of the counter. “You’re doing good,” she says, reaching a hand out to brush her fingers across the popcorn string Nicole’s building.

Nicole looks down to the end of the counter again and frowns. She leans forward over the counter, narrowing her eyes as she looks at Waverly.

Waverly leans back. “What’s the matter?”

Nicole sits back in her seat. “Nothing,” she says. “Who is that guy?” she asks, hooking her thumb towards the man.

Waverly looks down to the end of the counter. “I don’t know. Jack something. He comes in here to talk to Joyce all the time.”

“You know what this place needs?” Curtis asks, looking up from his train. 

“ _ Music _ !” Wynonna shouts.

Nicole twists around on her stool as Waverly disappears on the other side of the counter, her hair a blur as she races Wynonna across the diner to the jukebox. Waverly touches it first and Wynonna has to stop short to avoid running her over.

“Waverly, you can put a few songs on and then Wynonna can do the rest,” Curtis says quickly, following behind them closely. He looks back over his shoulder. “Nicole, do you want to put any songs on?”

Nicole shakes her head, twisting back and forth on her stool. She loves the jukebox, she really does. But picking the Christmas music doesn’t sound  _ fun _ right now. The last time she picked a song…

She shakes her head again and turns back to her popcorn. She can feel Curtis looking at her but she keeps her head down and chews on her bottom lip, lining another handful of popcorn along the wax string. She can hear the soft sound of the jukebox buttons depressing as Waverly puts in her songs and Wynonna adds her own choices. 

“Jingle Bell Rock” comes on first, and Curtis whoops, grabbing Gus around the middle as she comes back into the dining room, swinging her left and right around tables. She laughs and smacks her hand down on his chest, but lets him carry her around the black and white-tiled floor. Wynonna rolls her eyes, but Nicole catches her watching them out of the corner of her eye, a small smile on her face. 

Waverly sighs when “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” comes on, dropping her chin into her hand. She’s sitting at the counter now, making towers out of the jelly containers. “Do you miss him?” she asks.

“ _ From now on your troubles will be out of sight, _ ” Judy Garland sings.

“Who?” Nicole asks.

“Your dad.” Waverly pushes over a stack of jelly, piling them back up again. “I miss my mom a lot. Especially when I’m making popcorn string.”

Nicole thinks about her dad,  4,650 km away, celebrating Christmas without her. “No,” she lies. “I don’t miss him at all.”

Waverly blinks. “Oh,” she says quietly. 

Nicole flinches, sending the tip of the sewing needle into the fleshy part of her palm. It only stings, like getting her shots at the doctor’s, but her eyes water and she hisses the same word Nathan does when he strikes out.

Waverly silently hands her pieces of popcorn the whole time Judy Garland is singing, her fingers brushing Nicole’s palm as she lets go of each piece. They keep working together through the rest of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” and into  “The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire).”

“Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” comes on after that, Waverly clapping excitedly as it starts. She drops her hands when she sees Nicole looking at her, and something inside Nicole aches.

“I like this song,” Nicole says, the words rough against her throat.

Waverly looks at her for a long minute, through the first verse, before she smiles back hesitantly. “It’s my favorite,” she whispers.

Nicole leans in, her forehead bumping against Waverly’s. “Me, too,” she admits.

Waverly belts out the chorus, her voice high and airy, while Nicole plays the drums on the countertop. She feels Gus’s hand at her back as Gus sits down, and catches Gus’s smile out of the corner of her eye.

She’s singing along to “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas,” laughing as Wynonna throws a piece of popcorn for Curtis to catch in his mouth. The song ends and Nicole drags out the last note, leaning in Gus’s side as Joyce walks by, rolling her eyes.

There’s a soft click as the tap changes, but Nicole doesn’t hear it over Curtis shouting that he’ll catch the next piece of popcorn, or Gus yelling at him to stop yelling, or Waverly leaning across the counter to tell Nicole she’s doing a great job on the popcorn string. It feels like  _ Christmas _ for the first time all December, and something warm and soft settles in the pit of Nicole’s stomach.

There’s a three-second silence before the guitars start, and Nicole’s laughter settles somewhere in the first strum. “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” comes on and Nicole feels the whole world tilt underneath her. 

_ Not for Christmas _ , she thinks in her dad’s voice.  _ Not ever _ .

“Can it,” she murmurs.

“ _ You can plan on me _ ,” Bing Crosby promises. 

“Can it,” she says a little louder.

Curtis hums loudly. Gus twists a little, looking down at Nicole.

“Did you say something?” Gus asks, pushing blindly at Curtis as he swoops towards them, his arms out for Gus to step into.

“ _ Christmas Eve will find me where the lovelight gleams.” _

“Can it,” Nicole mutters.

Gus waves a hand at Curtis. “Hush up.” She turns her attention back to Nicole.

“ _ I'll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams.” _

_ “ _ I said,  _ can it! _ ” she shouts. 

Then she’s really tilting, sliding off the stool and landing hard enough that her knees buckle. Her boots are heavy and sharp against the tiled floor as she stomps across the dining room. It takes a second, but she gets a tight grip on the power cord and pulls, listening to the song cut off in a satisfying spark.

She stands there, holding the plug in one hand, feeling her chest rising and falling heavily. 

Wynonna and Waverly are both staring at her with wide eyes, their mouths hanging open.

“Nicole,” Gus starts.

“Just  _ can it _ ,” Nicole yells, her throat raw. She drops the power cord and takes a step back, slapping her hand down over her mouth. Gus slides off her own stool, taking a few steps towards Nicole. Nicole moves back and to the side, inching away from Gus’s approach. “I, I…” She shakes her head.

“Honey,” Gus tries again.

Nicole shakes her head harder, feeling the counter against her back. It almost sends her forward, and Nicole pushes off it, sprinting past Gus and Curtis, by Wynonna and nearly through Waverly. She shoves the kitchen door so hard it swings back and nearly catches her as she storms through it.

“Damn, Skippy!” Bobo yells, throwing a fork into the air. “What the hell is the matter with you, girl?” He reaches for Nicole.

She shoves his hand away, moving past him and out the back door, stomping down the back steps. She kicks an old milk crate over, bringing the heel of her foot down on another one.

“Woah there,” Curtis says from behind her, jumping in front of her as she swings her leg back to aim another kick at a crate. “What did that thing ever do to you.”

“I don’t want to talk,” she spits.

Curtis shrugs, turning over one of the crate and perching on the edge of it. “Okay.”

Nicole huffs and crosses her arms over her chest, rubbing her hands up and down her bare skin.

“I’m going to talk, though,” Curtis continues. “And you can listen if you want to. Or you don’t have to.” Nicole sees him shrug again, out of the corner of her eye. “Up to you.”

“Whatever,” Nicole mumbles.

“I like Bing Crosby,” Curtis says.

Nicole blinks. “What?”

Curtis turns his head, giving her a crooked smile. “I like Bing Crosby. I take it you’re not a fan? You don’t like him,” he clarifies.

“Oh,” Nicole says. She shrugs. She likes Bing Crosby, usually.

“I think ‘White Christmas’ is better than ‘I’ll Be Home for Christmas,’ but that’s okay,” he says, his voice light. “What do you think?”

“I think that song is the  _ worst _ ,” she hisses.

Curtis doesn’t jump or flinch or look away. He narrows his eyes and nods slowly instead, rubbing his hands together. “It’s a tough song, all right. All about promises. Hope. But then it turns out the person isn’t home for Christmas, after all.”

Nicole scowls.

“Gus told me about the other day, when you came by the house and I drove you home after dinner,” Curtis continues. He crosses his own arms over his chest. Nicole stares at the flannel shirt he’s wearing enviously. “Your mom said that you were all excited for your dad to come home. You were hoping. But your dad called and said he wasn’t coming home, huh?”

“Not for Christmas,” she says. “Not ever.”

“Listen, kiddo. If he doesn’t want to come home, that’s  _ his _ loss.” Curtis’s voice is hard, sharper than Nicole has ever heard it. “If he doesn’t want to live here anymore,  _ he’s _ the one who’s missing out.” He grabs her by the shoulders, holding her steady. 

“He doesn’t want to come back for us,” Nicole whispers, her throat closing around the truth. 

Curtis shakes his head. “You’re a smart kid with a good head on your shoulders. Look at what you did for Wynonna. She wouldn’t say a  _ word _ to anyone until you showed up.” He crouches down in front of her. “Nicole Haught, you are going to be something amazing when you grow up. And if your dad isn’t here to witness it,  _ he’s _ the fool. Do you understand me?”

Nicole nods silently.

Curtis shakes his head. “Tell me, Nicole. That you understand.”

“I understand,” she rasps.

Curtis’s fingers loosen a little, still holding her firmly in place. “I don’t know what he said to you. I don’t ever need to know. But  _ you _ need to know that your mom and your brother and Gus and I, and Wynonna and Waverly, we all care about you. 

“You want to come back in?” he asks, holding out a hand.

A part of Nicole wants to take it; wants to let Curtis carry her back into The Patch and set her down in a booth. But another part of Nicole wants to be able to sit in this cold air; to put something back into her lungs that makes her feel like she can breathe again. 

Eventually, she shakes her head. “In a minute,” she promises.

Curtis’s eyes narrow. “Okay, girl. But only a few minutes. You’ll catch pneumonia out here.” 

When he pulls open the back door to the kitchen, Nicole can hear “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” playing loudly. She hears the sound of a car backfiring, followed by the squeal of a few sets of tires. The high school probably let out and The Patch is going to get real busy, real fast.

She takes a deep breath, preparing herself to go back inside. She isn’t ready to talk, but Wynonna won’t push. Gus might, but not if Curtis tells her to give Nicole some space.

“I brought you something,” Nicole hears. She looks up at Waverly coming down the back steps. She’s in Curtis’s jacket and it’s too big, hanging down over her knees. “Here,” Waverly says quietly, holding out her hands. She has a coffee mug in between them, steaming gently in the cold air. “It’s hot chocolate.”

Nicole takes it slowly, her fingers curling around the mug. She sighs softly as the warmth from the cocoa seeps into her hands and up her arms. She looks into the mug and smiles crookedly. There’s a lump of marshmallow creme moving in a slow circle around the surface of the hot chocolate. 

“Whenever I’m sad, Gus makes me hot chocolate,” Waverly says. “You’re sad about your dad.”

Nicole opens her mouth to protest, but she snaps it shut, looking down at the ground. “Yeah,” she breathes out.

Waverly is nodding when Nicole looks back up. She gives Nicole a hesitant smile. “We can be sad together.”

“Okay,” Nicole breathes out.

Waverly sits down next to her. “Okay.”

They sit quietly for a minute, breathing out white clouds into the cold air.

“We can share,” Nicole offers, handing Waverly her mug.

Waverly reaches for it, cradling it carefully. “We can share,” she agrees. She laces one arm through Nicole’s.

They sit out on the crates in the back of The Patch until Curtis comes outside looking for them, ushering them back through the warm kitchen and into Waverly’s favorite booth, pouring them their own fresh hot chocolates. Wynonna presses against Nicole’s side, their shoulders brushing.  

Waverly’s arm stays wrapped around Nicole’s until Curtis drops her off at home for the night.

 

-  


Last year when she woke up on Christmas, it was snowing.

There was Christmas music playing softly downstairs and the house felt warm, like they had turned up the heat already. The floor was still cold under her bare feet, but she still rolled out of bed and out of her room. She remembers how she crashed into Nathan’s room and jumped on his bed, kneeing him in the stomach. She chased him down the stairs, pulling up short as she came to the front door window.

_ “ _ _ I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know, _ ” Bing Crosby sang quietly. 

“Wow,” Nicole breathed out.

Her mom came down the hallway, a cup of coffee in her hand, and leaned against the wall in the front entryway. “It’s so pretty,” she said. “Isn’t it?”

Nicole pressed her face to the glass. “Can we play in it later?”

Her mom rested a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll see. Right now, why don’t we go get some breakfast made and let your dad come downstairs and we can open presents.”

Nicole turned quickly. “Presents?”

Her mom winked at her. “I wonder if Santa brought you that beanbag chair you wanted.”

Santa didn’t bring it. She remembers her mom and dad whispering in the kitchen and the door slamming hard. She and Nathan kneeled on the couch and watched her dad’s car back down the driveway and disappear into the snow. 

“I guess we’re not going outside,” Nathan muttered, rolling off the couch and grabbing his brand new Viewmaster. He put it to his eyes and clicked through the images until her mom came back into the living room and asked if they wanted lunch.

Her dad came home later, right before dinner, a giant bean bag in his arms.

“Santa must have dropped it,” he said, his words sliding out of his mouth. He smelled funny, but Nicole didn’t care. She grabbed her bean bag and curled up in front of the TV. She slept there until her mom carried her to bed. 

This year, she rolls over in her bed, sits up and sighs. The sky is empty, not a single snowflake that she can see. The house is quiet, groaning every so often when a strong wind blows. She flops back down and pulls the covers over her head, breathing out. Her face gets hot and she pulls the covers back down, listening for Nathan or her mom walking through the house.

The small clock radio on her nightstand turns to 8:00, and she can hear Nathan’s bedroom door creak open. He forgets to step over that one floorboard that always squeaks, and she can hear him inhale sharply, pausing for a second before he keeps moving. He swings her door open slowly, poking his head into her room.

“Oh,” he says, catching sight of her. “You’re up.”

Nicole shrugs. “It’s Christmas. ”

Nathan shrugs back at her. "So?"

“Yeah,” Nicole sighs. "I know."

Nicole picks at her comforter, pulling a loose thread. Nathan huffs and comes into her room, climbing over her and sitting at the end of her bed. He’s in his Star Wars pajamas, the blue ones with Darth Vader on the front. He wriggles his feet under the covers, his toes pressing against her calf.

“It feels different,” he says quietly.

Nicole looks up from the comforter. “Yeah,” she says.

“Do you feel different?”

Nicole swallows back the truth and shrugs instead. The truth is, it doesn’t feel like Christmas. It feels like a Thursday, and she should be getting ready for school instead of racing Nathan down the stairs to see if they got the new bikes they asked for. It feels like she should be waiting for Curtis on the front steps so she can ride in his truck and sing along to “Get Up and Dance” by The Raes before he drops them off, instead of putting on Elvis’s Christmas album and turning on the tree lights.

Nathan sighs. “I do,” he admits.

Nicole props herself up on one arm. “You do?”

Nathan nods slowly. “Yeah. Like it’s just a normal day.”

“Is every Christmas going to feel like this?” she asks, her voice a whisper. “Even next year?”

Nathan looks at her for a long minute before he shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know.”

“I hope not,” she breathes out, laying back down.

“Hey, you two,” her mom says quietly from the doorway.

Nicole turns her head, pressing the side of her face into her pillow. Nathan’s toes jump against her leg.

“Merry Christmas,” her mom continues brightly, her smile just a little forced. “Are we having a slumber party in here?” She comes into the room and sits down on the edge of Nicole’s bed, running her fingers along Nicole’s forehead. “How come I wasn’t invited?”

Nicole leans into the touch, her eyes closing for a moment. “Neither was Nathan,” she grumbles.

Nathan kicks her lightly. “Get bent.”

“Watch it, mister,” her mom scolds gently. Her fingers pause on Nicole’s forehead.

Nicole wiggles around, trying to get her mom to keep going. She hums softly when she starts again.

“Well, why don’t we go downstairs and have some breakfast? Then we can open the gifts Santa brought you.” She looks back and forth between the both of them. “What?”

Nathan shrugs. “Nothing,” he says quickly.

Her mom sighs. “I know it’s the first Christmas without your father, but we’re going to eat breakfast and open presents and watch the Hollywood Christmas parade on the TV, okay? Just like we do every year.” Her mouth twitches. “Only, this year, no one is going to complain at Marie Osmond. Or my eggs.”

Nicole looks up at her mom, at the forced smile on her face and the way her eyes don’t light up all the way. She looks at Nathan - he must see it, too, because he’s frowning and his eyes are narrowed as he stares across Nicole’s room. She kicks him under the comforter and he jumps a little. 

“I like eggs,” he says. “I mean, I like  _ your _ eggs.”

Her mom smiles a little easier. “You do?”

Nathan nods so hard, Nicole thinks his head might come off. “Yeah. I like how the yellow stuff comes out, because I like to dip my toast in it.”

“You’d dip your toast in water if Mom would let you,” Nicole grumbles.

Her mom laughs and pats her on her forehead, pulling her hand back into her lap. “Okay, you. Let’s go down stairs and sneak a peek at what Santa brought you.”

Nathan jumps off her bed, throwing the comforter over her.

Nicole rolls her eyes, pushes the blanket away, and gets out of bed. “Mom, it’s okay. We know Santa Claus isn’t  _ real _ .”

Her mom’s mouth hangs open. She turns to Nathan. “Did  _ you _ tell her that?”

“He isn’t?” Nathan asks instead, his eyes wide.

Nicole slaps a hand over her mouth. “I mean, that’s just what Wynonna says. B-but she’s a liar!” She nods quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, she probably lied. Because... “ she sighs. “Shiz nits,” she curses.

Her mom smacks the back of her shoulder. “Language.”

Nathan shakes his head slowly. “So you mean…” He blinks a few times. “Who brings us presents?”

Her mom sighs. “Nathan, honey. Why don’t we go sit down for a few minutes. Just you and me,” she says pointedly, looking at Nicole. “We’ll talk.” She puts a hand on his shoulder and steers him out of the room. 

Nicole takes her time going downstairs. She makes her bed and fluffs her pillows, toes the box of cassettes her dad left her back under the bed frame, picks out a pair of jeans to wear later, sneaks down to Nathan’s room to take a white t-shirt out of his drawer, finds a flannel in her dirty clothes pile, and doublechecks the wrapping paper on the gifts she got for Wynonna, Waverly, and Gus and Curtis.

By the time she gets downstairs, Nathan’s eyes are slightly puffy and her mom is handing him a tissue. She watches him blow his nose and when he walks into the kitchen to throw out the tissue, Nicole slips down the rest of the stairs and into the living room.

“Do you believe in magic?” her mom asks her.

Nicole nods slowly. She does, sometimes. She believes in magic when her favorite song comes on the radio, just as she wishes for it. She believes in magic when Wynonna gets an A on her math test, even though they never studied for it. She believes in magic when she watches Waverly braid her own hair at recess, twisting strand over strand. But other times, she doesn’t believe that magic is real; if it was, her dad would be sitting in the kitchen right now, reading the  _ Ottawa Citizen _ , and not in another country without them.

“So does Nathan,” her mom says gently. “So we need to be careful not to ever make someone feel like what they believe in doesn’t matter, or isn’t real.” She holds out her hand, gesturing for Nicole to come closer. “Do you understand that, honey?”

Nicole leans into her mom’s side. “Does that mean that I shouldn’t tell Nathan that he looks funny in that clip-on bowtie he has?”

Her mom laughs, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll handle that one, okay?”

“Okay,” Nicole breathes out. Her eyes move over her mom’s shoulder, to the tree in the corner. Her mom shifts, turning to see what Nicole is looking at. She sighs softly.

“It’s not a lot,” she starts.

“Did I get the pinball machine I asked for?” Nicole whispers.

Her mom grins at her.

Nicole and Nathan tear open their gifts quickly. Nicole got the Pachinko Pinball Machine she asked for, but her mom makes her open all of her other gifts before she’s allowed to play with it. She gets socks and a flowy dress she thinks Waverly has. She smiles, even though she knows she’s going to shove it into the back of her closet and put it in the bag first when her mom asks if she has any clothes she’s not wearing that she can donate to the shelter. She gets a few cassettes: The Raes, The Commodores, and a band named Styx that she’s never heard of before. 

Nathan gets a dozen action figures: He-Man and Spiderman and Superman. He even gets a Batman one. He lines them all up along the living room floor and runs upstairs, grabbing the plastic race car he got last year, and stages an epic battle between The Hulk and Robin.

They give their mom a new bathrobe that she puts on right away, pulling the sash tight around her waist.

Her mom makes breakfast, and they turn on the Hollywood Christmas parade, and she’s  _ right _ . It’s just like every other year, except no one talks through all of the good parts, and they don’t have to watch  _ Blue Skies _ at all. They play with their new toys until lunch. Nicole sits on the couch and sets her new pinball machine up on the coffee table, pressing the lever and trying to hit as many pins as she can. She puts Styx’s  _ Cornerstone _ into the stereo in the living room, and they listen to it three times before her mom calls them in for lunch.

Nicole checks the clock in the kitchen, chewing on her bottom lip. She goes back to her lunch, pushing her ham around her plate while she sings the chorus of “Dream Police” in her head. She checks the clock again.

“Are you late for something?” her mom asks, smiling at her.

Nicole takes a deep breath. “Can I go to the McCreadys’ house?” she asks in a rush.

Her mom puts her fork down. “Were you invited?”

Nicole nods quickly. “Wynonna and Waverly said-”

“By Gus or Curtis?” her mom interrupts. “I know Wynonna is your best friend, but it’s Christmas, honey. It’s a day to spend with your family.”

_ But they’re like my family _ , is her first thought. Her second is,  _ then where is Dad _ ?

She shrugs instead. “She just said I could come over,” she says, her voice small.

Nathan burps loudly.

Her mom sighs. “How about you call them and ask? And if they say yes, I can drive you over there?”

“I can ride my bike,” Nicole says quickly. She settles back against her seat. “I mean, if they say yes.”

Her mom rolls her eyes, gesturing to the phone. “Call them.”

Nicole dials the number and bounces around the kitchen until she hears the line pick up.

“McCready house,” Waverly says.

“Let me talk to Curtis.”

“Who is this?” Waverly demands.

Nicole sighs. “It’s Nicole. Can I talk to Curtis? Or Gus?”

“You know,” Waverly starts. “You could say, ‘hi’ or ‘Merry Christmas’ or anything else nice.”

“ _ Waverly _ ,” Nicole growls. “I need to talk to them.”

“Fine,” Waverly huffs. “Hold on.”

“Hello?” someone asks after a minute. 

“Curtis,” Nicole says hurriedly. “You need to tell my mom I can come over.”

“Nicole,” her mom scolds.

Nicole sighs. “Fine.  _ Can _ I come over?”

Curtis laughs in her ear. “Put your mom on the phone, would you?”

Nicole holds the phone out to her mom, stomping her foot impatiently when she doesn’t get up from her chair right away. Her mom looks at her pointedly, eyes narrowed, and Nicole stops.  _ Sorry _ , she mouths as her mom takes the phone.

“Merry Christmas, Curtis,” her mom says. “Gus and the girls, too. Nicole said-” She nods. “As long as you’re sure about it.” She pauses, eyes on Nicole. “No, don’t bother yourself with that. I’ll let her ride over.”

Nicole whoops, throwing a fist into the air in victory. She doesn’t wait to hear the rest of the conversation, racing up the stairs to her room. She tucks her pajamas under her pillow and pulls on her jeans, falling down when she trips over the leg. She tucks the white shirt she stole into her pants and buttons the flannel she picked out, then unbuttons it. She forces her feet into her sneakers before she remembers she should wear her boots, but she doesn’t want to waste any extra time.

She’s halfway down the stairs before she realizes she forgot the gifts. She runs back up and grabs them, holding them tightly to her chest. She skids to a stop in the middle of the kitchen.

“How in the world are you going to carry those gifts and ride your bike at the same time?” her mom asks. She sighs, not waiting for an answer. “Hold on. Nathan, go grab a few cable ties from the junk drawer.” Her mom disappears into the living room, coming back with a basket that used to hold her dad’s  _ Outdoor Canada _ magazines. She leads Nicole outside, lifting the Foiler upright and leaning it against the steps. She gestures for the cable ties, looping them around the handlebars of the bike and through a space in the woven basket.

When she steps back, Nicole’s Foiler has a basket on it.

“It looks so  _ rad _ ,” Nicole breathes out. She dumps the presents into it and throws her leg over the frame, settling on the seat. “I’ll be home before dark,” she promises.

Her mom rolls her eyes, but waves and lets her go down the driveway.

Nicole looks back over her shoulder when she gets to the end of the street. Her mom is at the end of the driveway, waving still. Nicole skids to a stop and waves back, checking her presents before she starts pedaling again. She keeps one hand on her presents as she rides, taking the turns slowly.

She leans her bike up against the front steps and grabs her presents, letting herself in through the front door. She stomps her boots on the front rug.

“Nicole is here!” Waverly shouts, coming down the stairs.

Wynonna comes flying down behind her, pushing Waverly out of her way as she grabs for Nicole. “Present time!”

“Present time?” Nicole asks. Her coat comes off as Wynonna keeps tugging at her.

Wynonna stops, frowning. “Come  _ on _ , Nicole. I’ve been waiting all day.”

“You didn’t open presents yet?”

Wynonna groans. “ _ No _ . We  _ did _ . But  _ your _ present.” She grabs Nicole’s arm and pulls again, tugging her through the entryway and into the living room, pushing her down onto the armchair.

Curtis and Gus are sitting on the couch, sharing a blanket. “Merry Christmas, girl,” Curtis says.

Nicole smiles shyly. “Merry Christmas,” she says quietly.

“Can we do her present now?” Wynonna asks, already reaching for the wrapped gift on the mantle.

Curtis laughs. “Fine, fine. Give it to her.”

Nicole takes the gift, holding it in her hands. “What’s this?”

“It’s for you,” Curtis says. “From all of us.”

Nicole opens it slowly, looking at her gift without understanding it at first. She has a ton of  _ Rolling Stone  _ magazines, but not this one: a black and white cover with Michael Jackson on it.

“It’s the  _ Rolling Stone _ that was on the stands when you were born,” Curtis explains. “It’s dated April 29, 1971. The next edition came out later on in May, but the day you were born, this would have been at the corner gas station.”

Nicole looks up with wide eyes. “You got this for me?”

“You love music, don’t you?” Gus asks.

“Of course I do,” Nicole breathes out. “Thank you.” She looks up. “Thank you, really.”

Curtis grins. “Of course, girl. Merry Christmas.”

Nicole straightens up, gently placing her magazine on the corner of the coffee table. She grabs the presents she left by the front door and carries them carefully into the living room, putting them down. She hands one to Wynonna. “This is for you.”

Wynonna frowns. “I didn’t get you anything,” she says slowly, looking around the room. “Oh! I can give you-”

Nicole rolls her eyes. “You noob. This gift is for  _ both  _ of us,” she explains, pushing it towards Wynonna. “Just open it.”

Wynonna takes it, greedily ripping through the tape Nicole wrapped around the entire package. She growls as she tugs hard, leaning back as it finally rips. The gift falls into Wynonna’s lap. She picks it up and holds it between her hands.

“Is this…”

“A Base Station Citizens Band AM radio with walkie talkies,” Nicole rushes out. She grabs it from Wynonna and turns it over. “Look, you can have one and I can have one, and we can be on different sides of The Patch and we can use them!”

Wynonna grabs it back and looks over the package, the smile on her face growing. “This is the grooviest!” She looks up, her cheeks pink. “I mean. It’s cool. Whatever.”

Nicole’s shoulders drop. “It needs batteries. I forgot them.”

Curtis takes the package and reads it over.  “I think I have 6 D batteries,” he says. “Let me check.” He disappears into the kitchen and Nicole listens as he opens a drawer, rummaging around. 

Nicole looks down at her pile again. “Okay, Waverly,” she says, handing Waverly the clunky gift. “Here you go.”

“You got me something?” Waverly asks, her eyes wide.

Nicole frowns. “I was supposed to, right?”

Gus pats Nicole on the shoulder. “You didn’t  _ have _ to, honey. But it’s very nice that you did.”

“Oh.” Nicole straightens up. “My mom took me shopping. She said we’re supposed to get gifts for the important people. Not because they need it,” she adds quickly. “But because it’s nice. It’s why I got Nathan a Linus stuffed animal.”

Waverly smiles shyly and slowly folds back one side of the wrapping paper, careful not to look at the gift before she takes off all of the wrapping paper. 

“Waverly,” Wynonna groans. “You’re taking  _ forever _ .”

“It’s  _ my  _ gift,” Waverly fires back.

Waverly finally peels the rest of it off, but Nicole feels her hands tingling, growing anxious. Waverly tucks the discarded wrapping paper in the trash bag by the tree and looks down at her lap.

“It’s an Easy Bake Oven,” she whispers.

Nicole feels her throat go dry. She’s suddenly nervous that it’s an awful gift and she made a bad choice. She starts to reach for it. “It’s dumb, I can just-”

Waverly pulls it away from her, holding it tightly to her chest. “No,” she says firmly. “It’s  _ mine _ .” She holds it back out in front of her. “And I love it.”

“Oh,” Nicole breathes out. “You like it.”

“It  _ is _ dumb,” Wynonna mutters. “My radio is  _ way _ cooler.” She stands up, all of the wrapping paper in her lap falling to the ground. “I’m going to get batteries and then we’re going outside.”

“No, you’re not,” Curtis says coming back into the living room, his hands full of batteries. He passes them to Wynonna. “That wind is picking up and I don’t want you catching frostbite. You can stay inside and use it.”

Wynonna pouts, but kneels down on the floor, already busy at loading the CB radio and walkies with the right batteries.

Nicole picks up the last present, handing it to Gus and Curtis.

“It’s not cool, like a CB radio,” she says. “But…” She shrugs.

Gus smiles and Curtis shakes his head. “You didn’t have to get us anything, girl.”

“I told you,” she starts, taking a deep breath, ready to launch into a long speech.

Curtis holds out his hand. “But thank you,” he finishes.

He gives it to Gus and she starts opening it. Wynonna and Waverly have both put down their gifts, their eyes on Gus’s hands as she peels back the wrapping paper. Nicole feels dizzy by the time Gus is finally done.

Gus hands Curtis one of the two matching red and green plaid patterned coffee mugs. Nicole had picked them out by herself, because she liked the way they looked and they way they felt in her hands. Curtis opens the small coffee canister Nicole added to the gift, breathing in the smell of the coffee she picked out.

“This one is our favorite,” he says, smiling. 

“I know,” Nicole says proudly, straightening up. “I pay attention.”

Curtis grins.

Gus leans forward and kisses her on the side of the face. “Thank you, honey.”

“Can we  _ please _ go play with my radio now?” Wynonna asks, dragging out the sentence.

Waverly stands up. “I’m going to go make a cake!”

Wynonna starts towards the stairs, sliding to a halt just as she reaches the banister. “We need music!” she shouts.

Gus puts her hands up in surrender. “You all decide what we’re going to listen to. I’m going to make some of this coffee. You want some?” she asks Curtis.

Curtis grabs Gus around the waist, pinching her playfully. “I want something other than coffee,” he says.

Nicole feels her face flush a little and she turns away, watching Waverly start to tinker with her Easy Bake Oven instead. The burn in her cheeks doesn’t go away, though, so she busies herself with turning her  _ Rolling Stone _ magazine over in her hands instead, sounding out each word on the cover page. 

Gus leans down and kisses Curtis, twisting out of his arms and walking backwards towards the kitchen. 

“Can we play the mixtape you made me?” Wynonna asks Curtis.

Nicole’s head snaps up. “What’s a mixtape?”

Wynonna holds a cassette out to her. “It’s a cassette with songs from all different people,” she explains. “Curtis made me a Christmas one.”

“He made me one, too,” Waverly brags. She points to a cassette case on the shelf by the stereo. “It has Anne Murray and the Bee Gees and Supertramp on it.”

“ _ Mine _ has Twisted Sister,” Wynonna cuts in. “We’re going to listen to that one first.” Wynonna doesn’t wait for anyone else. She puts her cassette into the tape deck and hits rewind; she must have listened to it before Nicole got here.

Nicole looks around as Wynonna fiddles with the stereo. Curtis is at the kitchen sink, rinsing out the two mugs Nicole got for him and Gus. Gus is setting up the coffeemaker, scooping the grounds into the machine. Waverly is spreading all of the parts of her Easy Bake Oven out on the living room floor, reading the directions page by page.

There’s something warm in the middle of her chest; just as warm as she was this morning, wrapped in her comforter with Nathan at one end of her bed and her mom’s fingers drawing circles on her forehead. Wynonna cheers and twists, turning the volume dial all the way up.

The first song comes on and Nicole grins widely, already in love with the heavy metal guitar and the synth.

“ _ I’ll be home for Christmas,” _ Dee Synder starts.

Nicole feels the world spin underneath her, her stomach bottoming out as the lyrics continue.

_ “You can count on me _ .  _ Please have snow and mistletoe and presents on the tree. Christmas Eve will find me where the love-light gleams. I'll be home for Christmas. _ ”

“Wynonna,” Waverly hisses. “Not  _ this _ song.”

Nicole can feel her face burning, the back of her neck turning red. Waverly is glaring at Wynonna and Wynonna is standing in front of the stereo, her mouth in a hard line. Waverly tips her head to the side slowly and Wynonna looks away.

“We can skip it,” Wynonna says quietly.

Nicole swallows.

Lita Ford hits a note that sends shivers down Nicole’s spine. “It’s okay,” she says, the words almost sticking in her throat. She swallows and tries again “It’s okay. We can listen to it.”

“But last time-”

Nicole shakes her head sharply. “No. It’s… I’m better,” she says to Waverly. She tries to get Waverly to understand - this is  _ better _ . 

_ This _ feels like Christmas.

“Okay,” Waverly says. She looks at Wynonna. “She says it’s okay.”

“I can  _ hear _ her talking,” Wynonna says. “She’s standing right there.” She rolls her eyes and tosses Nicole a walkie talkie. “Here. I’m going to go hide. Try and find me.” She turns and sprints through the living room, stomping her feet heavily on the stairs. 

Nicole sits down on the couch, counting to ten while Dee and Lita keep singing. 

“Someday, I’m going to make a mixtape,” Nicole declares.

“Really?“ Waverly says doubtfully, looking up from her brownie mix.

“Really,” Nicole says firmly. “With the right songs and everything.”

Waverly stares at her for a second. “Maybe you can make me one someday,” she says, twisting the knob on her Easy Bake Oven.

“Maybe,” Nicole says. “But no promises.”

Waverly keeps staring at her, eyes narrowed as she chews on her bottom lip.

“Fine,” Nicole sighs, rolling her eyes. She fights a smile. “Someday.”

“Someday,” Waverly echoes happily. She smiles at Nicole.

“ _ Nicole. Stop talking to Waverly and find me _ ,” Wynonna demands over the walkie talkie.

Nicole holds the walkie talkie to her mouth. “You’re supposed to say ‘over.’ Over.”

“ _ Stop talking to Waverly. Over _ .”

Waverly rolls her eyes and Nicole pushes off the couch, lingering for a moment to listen to the end of the song.

“ _ I'll be home, be home, be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams… _ ”

She holds the walkie to her mouth. “I’m coming. Over.” 


End file.
